Dirty Laundry
by AubreyWitch
Summary: He's bleeding out, and for the life of her, she doesn't know what to do. Confessions in all the wrong places. BI-SHOT. Contains CITRUS. NaruSaku
1. Chapter 1

When Haruno Sakura drags herself home to her single-bedroom apartment, well into the midnight hour, the last thing she wants to deal with after a grueling double-shift is one Uzumaki Naruto. But the world doesn't always work the way she wants it to.

In the absence of a street light, he looks at first to her unadjusted eyes like an overstuffed sack of the neighbor's laundry mistakenly slumped against her doorframe. She's annoyed that _again_ their belongings (crap) have spilled over onto her side of the walkway, but not so annoyed that she's contemplating actually removing it. She'll ignore it, step over it and into the cool sanctuary of her interior, hope it will be removed by the time she re-emerges the next afternoon, otherwise forget it.

But as she mounts the last step to her entryway platform, palm lingering against the stairwell's splintered railing, she pauses, dilated pupils lingering as she takes a better, longer look. She nearly screams at the shock—_how unprofessional_, she would scold herself if she weren't too busy tripping forward and tumbling to her knees at her teammate's side. Her knees are wet, soaked through the white stockings instantly where they've touched down against blood saturated floorboards, and the full horror of the situation stabs in her chest like a twisting scalpel.

Resisting the urge to shake him, she gently cups a hand to his face. She is afraid to touch a hand to the fabric over his stomach because she knows from experience what that dark patchiness means. Besides, his hand is already resting there, pressing over the wound.

"Naruto." She smacks at his jaw now, can't think about the possibility that he might not wake up. "Hey. Come on, babe."

The only scenario she can imagine is that he's been attacked and beaten, dumped at her doorstep as a way to get back her. But who are her enemies? Who would hate her this much to do such a horrible thing? Maybe, she thinks, her Shishou's enemies would. Maybe she is next.

It doesn't matter if it's a trap; she can't stop smacking his face. She doesn't have time to glance around or draw a weapon—she can't take her eyes off of him.

Finally, after a few seconds—when she's just about to break the cardinal rule and shake him relentlessly by the shoulders—Naruto flutters his eyes and groans at her.

The flood of relief is almost too much.

When he looks at her, his eyes are such a dark blue, barely distinguishable in the shadows. She watches as they seem unable to focus on her face, rather he's looking right though her—behind her, scanning the area around them, looking for the enemy perhaps? For a moment it's like she isn't even there, and that frightens her more than anything.

"I guess I fell asleep," he croaks, finally.

"What happened?" Her voice is too loud, too panicky as she fumbles for her fallen keys—she's got to get him inside, assess the damage before it's too late. What is wrong with her, that she's taken so long to come to this conclusion? Where have her wits gone that she's yet to rush him to the hospital?

She's hefting him by the underarms when he says, "Didn't want to check into the ward—Baa-chan would be pissed with me, so I decided to wait here for a bit this afternoon."

"This-this afternoon?!" She almost drops him as she squawks her disbelief. Anyone else would be dead by now. And at the thought she hugs him tighter to her chest, forcing the door open and waddling them both inside.

Her heart is thundering in her ears, sounds like the rushing of a river.

She can feel his arms slip across her back which is a good sign. "Don't be mad at me," he says.

He sounds so childish, but he's not actually whining—too tired perhaps, and she doesn't bother to answer, all professional (desperate) concentration as she lays him atop the kitchen counter and starts tearing at his clothing. She's left her medical kit and purse outside the gaping entranceway so she'll have to go back for them. But first she wants to see it, ascertain the danger with her own eyes and hands, probe him with her trusted chakra. (Eyes and hands can lie, but chakra always, always lays out the cold truth of the matter.)

He cringes and tries to curl in on himself at the sudden uninvited sting of icy chakra in his stomach's gash, hates the fact that his seal has risen and is visible against his bleached skin—rent in two by the wound—even in the lack of overhead light.

"It's not that bad," Sakura sighs, which is a lie, before flipping the switches to the kitchen lights and turning to retrieve her equipment from outside. "Lie there," she instructs over her shoulder with a scowl she hopes is threat enough. "And don't move. I'll be right back."

She takes the time to calm herself, regulating her breathing into deep slow breaths as she locks the front door behind her. She's already thinking to herself: boil water, gather towels, fill bathtub. His clothes are ruined, she'll have to find him some sweats from the back of her closet.

"I've gotta go back after this." He might be talking to himself, mumbling from the countertop, hardly loud enough for her to hear. "Tsunade-baa'll kill me if she finds out I blew it."

"Blew what?" she asks, once more at his side. She doesn't even remember having set the pot to boil on the stove. She trails her hands up and down his chest before sliding lower to his tummy; she checks his heart rate and his breathing in the process, but mostly she does it for her own comfort. She's feeling shaky, spooked by the whole thing—the suddenness of his hypothetical loss shoved in her face.

He whines when her fingers dip down into the broken flesh before beginning to carefully mend it together, but that's not why he doesn't answer. She can tell because he glances sidelong into her living room and gnaws at his bottom lip, a clear and familiar indication that he feels he's talked himself into a corner.

"I wasn't supposed to tell you," he explains at last (once the silence has dragged on too long for comfort), and she wonders since when they've been keeping secrets.

She mends a little less gently at the thought, and he gasps. "Naruto, if it were anyone else, I'd need to give them a blood transfusion, do you understand?"

By which it should be clear: if _you_ were anyone else, if you weren't a jinchuuriki, you couldn't afford to be so reckless.

He frowns at her rebuke, and she expects him to shut her out now completely, but he sighs, "Okay, okay. I get it. I got permission to go find information on Ero-sennin's. . . last battle. Ow, I got permission, okay?!"

"You idiot," she cries, having completely forgotten any veneer of professionalism at this news. "I don't believe you! She wouldn't send you out there after—not alone, after what happened." Naruto doesn't say anything to this, tightlipped with either discomfort or anger, so Sakura continues a little more pathetically, "Why would you go out there without me? We're a team aren't we?"

She doesn't know why she feels so betrayed at the thought; you'd think she was accusing him of meeting with Sasuke-kun in secret somewhere. But it's clear that she's right on this matter—if he really was so much better off without her in a mission situation, he wouldn't be here now staining the ceramic tiles of her countertop. She turns her back to dip an eyed needle into the boiling water before attaching the suture thread. She's already closed the wound through chakra adhesive techniques, but she wants to be absolutely sure—stitches are rarely necessary in treating Naruto because of the rapid healing qualities of his fox chakra, but seeing him in such a state, it makes her overly cautious.

"You think I'd put you at that kinda risk?" he groans and tries to sit up. The action reopens the slash, and from the way he touches a palm to his forehead before wilting back to a prone position, makes him lightheaded. "I'm fine; I'm getting up. It was a mistake to come here."

Sakura sours instantly, lips puckered from the insult (and the fact that she'll essentially have to start from scratch, re-heal him)—it was so much easier to work in the hospital environment where you could _strap a patient to his bed_. "Oh, sure. Go crawl into a corner and die, dumbass. That'd be so much better than having to deal with me." She digs knuckles into the pit of his stomach and he blanches (more so than he already has from the loss of blood), for a moment looking as if he'll vomit.

Breathily, he retorts, "Not going to die."

She knows. She knows that, and she's thankful he's okay, but he scared her so very badly—can't he understand, that for a while she _didn't _know that earlier tonight?

"Just lie still for a little bit." Surprisingly, he complies, and she works in silence, careful to reseal the wound before digging the needle into the soft skin of his stomach. On the final lace she asks, "How did you get her to agree?" Because it bothers her to think that her master would approve of such reckless behavior, may have very nearly cost her one of her most precious teammates.

Naruto does sit then, examining the stitches by rubbing the palm of his hand across her work. He scratches at the seams where they pull and stretch against his movement. He still looks white, much too white for him, but he shoots her the ghost of that familiar grin. "I told her I was going and that she couldn't stop me."

She wants to pummel him. But she won't risk ruining her handiwork and having to fix it yet again. Instead she frowns and starts tugging at his pants.

"H-HAY," he yelps, caught off guard by the unexpectedness of her act and scrambles to grab the edge of the countertop to keep from being tugged off along with the article of clothing. He's already naked from the waist up, but he wasn't planning to get naked-NAKED, not in front of Sakura-chan anyway. And not like this. He's struggling to make a crack about 'if she wanted him' but for the life of him, his wit has failed him and what comes out instead is merely a series of choked syllables which sound suspiciously like surprise and, even more embarrassingly, boy-hood innocence.

It's not how she'd have wanted it to be (either), if she'd ever wanted it to be with _Naruto_, but she's working now, yes off the clock, because he's the one who brought it to her doorstep and she's still in uniform from her earlier shift. And if there is anything about her professionalism that she prides herself on, it's her efficiency. She's going to check for remaining lacerations, and that's that.

Besides, what is a naked body to her in such a line of work?

"Stop making this difficult," she hisses, and with a final rip the pants are off. There's nothing standing between them now except for air and a very short pair of striped boxers. He doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands aside from trying to swat hers away, but she ignores his awkwardness, face serious as fingers trace the contours of his thighs meticulously, dip down behind each knee and graze along bony shins.

"I'm fiiiine," he whines, his voice pitching higher in his impatience and for a moment reminding her of their childhood together.

His boxers are ratty and worn with runs across the crotch. "These are way too small for you." She wants to add, What were you thinking? but it's too naggy even for her (she has a tendency to mother him if she's not careful) so she resists the urge to admonish him as she reaches for the elastic waistband.

He seems distracted or maybe just defeated, allowing her to peel the undergarment away with only verbal protest. "Hey," he sulks, lying back on the counter so as not to have to look at her while she looks at him. "I couldn't find any clean laundry when I went to pack. Just be glad I'm not free-balling it."

"Not like it matters now," she rewards him with a little half-snort, and he gasps when her slender fingers press into his ballsack and begin to gently probe around.

He turns his head to the side, flushed hot as she continues exploring, moving parts from side to side and up and down as needed. He stares hard at the dark jutting shapes of her furniture and fails at trying to keep his mind blank. "You couldn't have just trusted me that the gut wound was the only one?" he says.

She's thinking that she's surprised they made it this long without her ever seeing him naked—what with her being a medic and how often he gets hurt. At the hospital there was always just someone else there to do _that_ job. "Just because we never got naked before doesn't mean it's not necessary." Which just comes out totally wrong.

He is looking at her now, and she can't quite meet his eyes, but she can't seem to stop touching him either. The skin there is so soft, like new, and kind of like the skin behind the ear, and she realizes she's never touched a patient this way—massaging and thinking and taking the time to really consider what it feels like. She's never touched any boy this way, embarrassingly.

The look in his eyes is so intense—needy—that she snatches her hand away, and the moment is broken. Naruto scrambles to sit (wincing) and covers his privates with both hands, smashing down his budding erection with sweaty palms, hiding himself as if she hadn't just examined him in his full entirety, hadn't just sort of pleasantly molested his dignity in the name of science.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," she says a little too quickly, mortified by the whole exchange (really she doesn't know what came over her), but she's glad that it seems to have brought back a little color to his skin. She scoops him up with the help of her chakra enhanced strength and carries him down the hallway and into the bathroom. He feels weightless in her arms.

He's quiet as she runs the bath water, testing the temperature against her wrist, so she quips, "You know, I can never eat off that counter again."

He looks drained and not at all like his normal energetic self but manages a wry smile. "I'm sure the blood will wash away. It's not ruined."

"I meant because of your naked ass all over the tile top."

Naruto chokes on his own spittle and she uses that moment to ease him from the edge of the tub and into the steaming, clear water. She watches as it plumes red, the blood like a cloud of kicked up dust.

"And whose fault is that?" He finally manages to sound indignant.

She stains the white bar of soap against his chest, dips it in the water and glides it across his spongy skin. He settles down, only splashing a small amount of water over the sides.

Sakura's soaps smell good, but her shampoo smells even better as she massages it into his scalp. (He's going to smell like a fruit after this.) He feels a little bit like a child or a puppy which is humiliating for a grown boy, but he likes the feel of the attention so he keeps quite apart from the occasional muted expression of pleasure. She could make his toes curl even if she never touches him that way, _even if_ she'll never even look at him like that.

"Sakuura-chyan." He beams up at her, but then the shampoo starts to drip down into his eyes and he has to close them.

"I'm glad you're okay," she says and touches her lips to a spot along the line of his jaw.

When he turns his face into hers, searching for her lips, she dumps a cup of water over his head.

* * *

**AN:** I needed to write something fluffy and just... cute Sakura and Naruto interaction after so much angst in Clean Through. I've had major writer's block for its next chapter (even though I know what I want to happen) so I thought this might help to get the creative juices flowing. My original intention was to make this a one shot, but rather than hold onto it any longer, I'll just post it up as is and finish with a nice bedroom scene in chapter two

ALSO I apologize for the whacky changes in POV randomly throughout but I'm too lazy to care to fix them. :3 Just, uh, go with it?


	2. Chapter 2

Naruto's back hits the mattress hard enough that she worries he'll rip his stitches again. "Honestly," she gripes, but he's too busy smothering his face with her pillow and wriggling around on her sheets like he's in the process of making some deformed, bedtime snow-angel. Any moment now he'll be swimming the butterfly under her comforter.

"Mrmph hnn."

His words are completely inaudible behind the padding of her pillow, but she can imagine what he wants, knows that for all his pretending and distracting that he's actually inhaling and languishing in the scent of her as it surrounds him. His chest rises with a deep intake of air, confirming her suspicions and he sighs it out slowly, rolling sidelong to huggle the pillow against his chest as he grins up at her, the image of perfect and utter relaxation.

"I'm really okay to walk home now," he says and it breaks the illusion because she can see now that he's fingering the edge of the pale pink pillowcase with a subtle nervousness.

She lowers herself to the edge of the bed, leaning in close enough to ruffle his hair before setting her digital alarm for 6 a.m. As appealing as the idea of sleeping the day away with Naruto sounds, cocooned in a warmth of body heat and downy sheets, she's got a training regime to uphold on her days off from hospital duty. And before that she'll need to report to Tsunade about the on goings of the previous night's shift.

During that time, she'll also probably need to explain what she knows about Naruto's situation. She's certain Naruto wouldn't be here with her if there was any chance of a security threat (which then leads her to the cold realization that the men who attacked him are undoubtedly deceased and disposed of), but the Hokage will need to be debriefed regardless and she knows from experience that her Shishou is easier to handle if someone has already broken her in, given her time to digest the unsavory news. She's used to the old woman's volatile mood swings, so she doesn't mind being the messenger, taking the brunt of her anger so Naruto doesn't have to.

"Don't even think about it," she mock threats, once more turning her attention to the boy pretending to be at home in her bed. "You're a patient under my strict watch and care until I say otherwise. Got it?"

"If you say so'tteba," he sighs, deep and dramatic as if just the notion is putting him out, but he buries his face against her pillow to hide a lopsided grin. "Geff el haff ta stick huhround for ew ta check mm out."

He actually snickers, and she has to resist the urge to clobber him on the back of the head.

"I can't even understand the words that are coming out of your mouth, doofus."

It's obvious he's in one of his goofier moods, but she doesn't really mind it. Seeing him happy and smiling is hardly wearying to her. It's a much appreciated improvement from the state she discovered him in earlier that evening, anyway.

She tries to pry the pillow away from him and has to result to pinching his left nipple in order to get him to relent.

"Ow, Sakura-chan, you're so abusive. No man'll let you near his bits if you keep that up." He's teasing but he's also sulking and she has a hard time figuring out just how much of each is genuine. She'd argue that he'd already let her man-handle his, but just the recollection is enough to enflame the apples of her cheeks and it's not exactly clear if the whole debacle had been wholly willing on his behalf.

It's weird, this isn't the first time that they've slept together, and yet he seems both nervous and enthralled at the thought of sharing her bed, hiding behind childish antics which would normally result in getting him kicked out completely, ruining his opportunity. She thinks she kind of understands it, the defense mechanism he's taken to with her over the years—if he sabotages himself he'll have an excuse to deal with the ache of rejection. And maybe it attests to her own growth in maturity that she's only just recently become more patient with him. (Sometimes Naruto is goofy just to be goofy, and sometimes Naruto is goofy to protect himself. Sometimes it's hard to tell which is which, but she's gotten more practice in than most.)

Over the past six months they've somehow taken to sharing a sleeping bag over the course of their missions together. It had seemed only natural at the time, a subconscious effort as with each night they both separately inched closer to the other. Maybe it was the pressure of seeking Sasuke-kun, the compounded ache of each subsequent failure, or maybe the outside abrasion of struggling to deal with new teammates had pushed them to seek each other: a familiarity. Whatever the reason, she can remember the strong feelings of that first night where she nuzzled against the crook of his chest and let the scent of his skin wash over her.

She likes being encompassed in Naruto.

Of course, a lot of things happen on missions under a don't ask, don't tell operational basis. There's no lack of rumors between four-man formations. But those things seldom worm their way into every day, personal life.

So she understands his self-defense mechanism. In a way, this is new territory between them, and there's no guarantee that she'll accept him under these more personal, private circumstances.

Two years—no, even one year ago—she'd have made him sleep on the couch. Six months ago she'd have given him the comfort of the bed but refused to join him. And now? She rubs a hand over the stitches in his skin, taking the time to explore the taut area with her fingers and thumb before gliding over the rest of his flat stomach. She can feel the bunching of his abs just below his skin, and her fingers stray to dance across his ribs.

"It kinda hurts."

"Your tummy?"

"No."

Her hand has strayed back to the stitches in question, but she can tell that's not why he winces and looks away. He's averting his gaze, damn near boring a hole into the ceiling as he fights to keep all expression from his face, but she can see his fingers stroking against her pillow, and she knows it's all an effort to keep himself restrained. She's being unfair, touching him in this way when they both know she won't allow him the freedom to return it, but he hasn't asked her to stop.

After a couple more minutes of her petting his tummy, he moves a hand to rest on her hip, thumb stroking across the front and jut of her bone, back and forth in place. He's watching her now with eyes fiercely blue in the darkness of the room. It must be tough for him, she thinks, always so desperate for her attention but never being satisfied, never getting enough—he's never gotten what he really wants from her.

"Hey, babe?"

He blushes pleasantly every time she calls him that not because of any intimate implication from the pet-name itself but because he's noticed that she only uses it when no one else is around. So in a way, it's like their little secret. (Or so he'd rather look at it than assume it's because she's ashamed of him.)

He scratches at a cheek with his index finger, pretends that such a silly gesture doesn't actually underly his sheepishness. "Hm?"

"You really scared me tonight."

He frowns. "I already apologized."

This is true, but it had felt more like a distraction for his sake after she'd insisted on toweling him dry, uttered as she stooped to rub the towel in between each thigh.

"That's not what I mean," she sighs, and her fingers dip down in a dangerous moment of teasing behind the elastic waistband of his borrowed sweats. (They're a light gray but have pink stripes running down the sides and sit too short for him, baring sculpted ankles.)

For a moment Naruto doesn't breathe, too tense and terrified to move lest she accidentally touch _that_, the thing which had been building while she stroked the sensitive areas of his chest and stomach and hips, that thing which he had been trying to prevent because it would undoubtedly get him kicked out of the bed and likely with a concussion and a nice shiner to boot. But also a part of him wants her to brush it, the anticipation coiling in his chest.

"I've been thinking—not just tonight—that I don't want to end up like Shishou. I don't want to be old and alone, regretting what should have been with the person I never gave a chance." She flushes a lovely shade to match her hair, surprised that she's admitted the words aloud because it's the first time she's even admitted them to herself. "I don't want to let you slip through my fingers."

Naruto can't really process what she means, it's too sudden and can't possibly be true—he never expected it to be true, and now he doesn't know what to do with himself, how to react, except that she isn't waiting for his response or permission; she's taken it upon herself to ease her hand fully down into his pants, exploring gently, caressing and squeezing until he chokes and moans and squirms, unable to hold still.

"Sakura-chan...?" He can't believe it.

But, God, it feels so very good.

He wants out of the damn sweats (now!) because he wants to see her holding him, confirm with his own two eyes that it's real. He's kicked the covers aside in a clamber, hands shooting to the lip of the pants where they ride low on his hips, but as always, Sakura has other ideas and he finds himself pushed back from his crunched position to lie flat on the mattress, her free hand pressing down on his shoulder as she practically climbs on top of him to get to his lips. He mm-s as soon as their mouths connect, and he thinks, _Now why didn't I think of this?_ His hands abandon their task to dance across her back and hips, jerking her down on top of him in order to press skin to skin. A hand skims higher, fingers tracing the band of her black sports bra, but he hesitates, unsure of the boundaries. Not 'just how much can he get away with' like he might be wondering with another girl but 'how much is he allowed'? Because with Sakura-chan the thought of ruining it is almost as terrifying to him as never getting a chance with her at all.

Sakura gasps as her tummy grazes against Naruto's, the line of stitches a scratchy and unexpected texture against her skin. She wriggles against the feel of it, stroking their bodies together as she attempts to simultaneously savor and digest the sensation, each responding arch of his hips causing a pleasant thrumming to build in the pit of her belly. Their kissing has fallen into an accompanying rhythm (less frenzied on his behalf compared to the start), but as she becomes more enthralled she bites on his tongue, trapping it in place and eliciting a whine from her eager partner. She uses the teasing gesture to halt the kiss before taking it in a new, slower direction. Finally, she separates from his lips completely, her own hovering a couple inches above as she gives him a good firm jerk where he's been pulsing and growing in her hand, resulting in the shuddered response she was looking for.

She almost laughs because she can see it in his face, the _pleasepleasepleaseplease_, but she's too busy continuing what she wants to do which is tracing the tip of her tongue across his bottom lip. She kisses the edge of his mouth and breathes, "I don't know what I would do without you."

When she licks her way down his throat she can feel the vibration of his words like a sweet pulsing on her tongue.

"Sakura-chan, this is too much for me."

Surprised at his reaction, she sits back and can see the change in his demeanor. He looks confused and trapped and like he might be close to tears, but for the life of her she can't understand why.

"Hey," she tries, poking him in the ribs playfully. "What's with you? What's the matter?"

He lets out a puff of breath like if he's not careful all the words will spill out too soon and in a jumble. "Look," he says, but he's not actually looking at her while he says it. "You don't have to say things to try to make me feel better or something. You don't need an excuse. I'll do anything you want me to, just don't—"

"I'm not lying to you, retard." She pokes him some more, only harder. He tries to roll away from her intrusion, but she follows fluidly, refuses to relent. "What's the matter with you saying something like that? You don't think I care about you? You don't think I cherish you? Why then—" Poke, poke. "Do you think I nearly lost it—completely forgot my training—when I saw what had happened to you tonight? I was like a chicken with my head cut off because of you. A mockery to medical kunoichi." Poke. "Why do you think I cried?"

The last part comes out more somber than she meant it to, and it isn't even referring to what's happened that night—he probably didn't even know about that time, the way she'd bawled her eyes out and (again) stupidly reacted to his situation, putting herself in danger in the need to save him. She'd walked away with three claw gashes in the arm because of that mistake. But she doesn't know if there's a way she could have reacted better, she isn't sure there's anything she actually can do to help him. It scares her every time she thinks about it, and it frustrates her, because it forces her to consider how utterly useless she really is. What can she ever do for Naruto except stupid, little things?

She lets out a half-laugh, half-sob and shakes her head, trying to lighten the mood. "Why do you think I put up with your stupid antics and your burps and farts and perverted techniques. I pack an extra bento for you every time we go on a mission, and I eat with you on all my lunch breaks even though you want ramen _every_ time, and I don't even snap your bones anymore when we argue."

It's true. He can't remember the last time she'd actually cracked his ribs, but he liked to think it was because over the years he'd learned better how not to antagonize her. So much for that theory. "Wow, Sakura-chan, you must like me a lot. You must wanna marry me and have my babies."

He's poking fun at her idea of tender loving care, but it actually means a lot to him that she's confirmed his hopes and desires (finally?). Mostly he'd thought he was just projecting his longing onto her actions, letting it color his interpretation. Even now, after all that's happened, it doesn't seem like it could be true.

Glancing to the side he mutters, one eye-brow raised, "Maybe I should get beat up more often," to which Sakura smacks him.

"Stop making fun," she sighs, settling into the crook of his body in defeat. She plies her fingers across the dip in his chest and imagines she can feel his heart pulsing beneath them. After a few drawn out moments of silence, she pipes mischievously, the corners of her lips upturned against his skin, "So. Sex now, or cuddle now and sex later?"

"Sakura-chan, I have a hole in my stomach!" he squawks, as if they hadn't just been dry humping, as if she hadn't just fumblingly fondled his bits (for the second time that evening!) Then after a pause, a cheeky grin. "Sex now."


End file.
